


Merlot

by castiiron



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiiron/pseuds/castiiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have a friend who is moving to the apartment block next your yours actually. We were wondering if you could lend your manly prowess.” Varric sounds strained, as though he was carrying something heavy. “I promised him I knew someone who could lift a car over his head, don’t let me down.” </p><p>A tattooed artist moves into the apartment block next to Hawke's, Varric's friend apparently. He's different, puzzling, quiet, quaint and unfortunately, really god damn attractive. He leaves you wishing you knew the about world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merlot

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just see where this goes. There will be nsfw content in the future don't you worry yourselves.

You think, that when the time comes, that this is probably what hell feels like. Glaring at the shitty magnet-thermometer souvenir that Carver gifted you from his escapades in Canada last year, (though the tiny ‘made in China’ sticker on the back tells another story) the red liquid inside threateningly hovers close to the 43 degree line.

As much as you enjoy warm weather, 43 is really pushing into your comfort zone and damn they call it a _comfort_ zone for a reason. This summer has been almost enjoyable up until around 3pm yesterday afternoon when your trusty air conditioner decided it had had quite enough.

To make matters worse, it was barely even 11am in the morning and the worst was surely yet to come.

Sighing you open the freezer and take out your third freeze pop of the day, the actual reason you made the hike to the kitchen in the first place. If it were up to you, you’d be quite content to never leave the couch again. Looking at the temperature just made you feel even warmer. There's comfort in the unknown right?

Falling with little to no grace back onto the sticky faux leather couch you think that maybe hell would actually be more comfortable than this is.

Through a mix of laziness and scientifically proven fact, you knew it would be cooler to keep the place dark so you never actually opened the blinds in the lounge when you woke up. Apart from the stripes of sunlight hitting the ground through the blinds, the house is almost completely dark. Shitty daytime television is playing on your box of a TV, if daytime television could be called ‘television’ in the first place. Most of the channels at this time of day are hour long advertisements for steam mops and other unnecessary household appliances. Unfortunately you actually catch yourself shamefully thinking that a Nutri-Bullet would be quite convenient. Imagine how good a frozen berry banana smoothie would be right about now.

Fully engrossed in the advertisement (it can make dips too!) you almost miss the vibrate of your phone as it rings persistently in your pocket. You answer just in time.

“Please don’t ask me to leave the house today, unless you’ve somehow managed to install air con in the bar since last night.”

It’s Varric, your oldest friend, and your boss at The Hanged Man, the dingy little bar you work at. Its one of those places that mostly only serves those regular 40 year old men who are sick and tired of life at home, and the constant string of friends who you know wouldn’t set foot in the place if they didn’t get drinks on the house at least once a night. No one really makes The Hanged Man the _place_ to go. You helped Varric set it up, get it off its feet and even agreed to work under his command while it established itself... except its been 4 years since then. Like you said, you’re quite comfortable with where your comfort zone sits at the moment. It’s a job, it pays the rent, it buys you food for the week and you get _free_ alcohol, how could you complain.

You try to push the looming fact that you’re 26 in a months time and still working in a shitty bar with no qualifications and no real job, far far out of your mind.

“Doesn’t the squeaky fan on the desk do it for you Hawke?” He jokes. 

“Isabela blowing on my face gently would work better to cool me down than that excuse of a fan.” You hear him laugh and in the background, a thud and scraping against tiles. “What do you need of me on this absolutely gorgeous day?” 

“I have a friend who is moving to the apartment block next your yours actually. We were wondering if you could lend your manly prowess.” He sounds strained, as though he was carrying something heavy. “I promised him I knew someone who could lift a car over his head, don’t let me down.”

“What idiot decides to move house on a 40 plus degree day?” You scoff and wish he hadn’t set such high expectations of you, to someone who you have never met, “Varric if I go outside I might melt.”

You hear a dull thud and someone swear in a gruff voice. “Hawke, everyone else is either at work or out of town, you literally live next door, you could come downstairs in your boxers and no one would bat an eyelid.” He pauses. “I’ll slip an extra $50 into your paycheck this fortnight. Plus Fenris’s apartment has air-conditioning, it wont be as bad as you think.”

“You sure do know how to win my favour.” Stretching and biting the rest of the flavoured ice down, you agree, “I’ll come down, just give me a minute or so.”

“Thanks Hawke.” He hangs up.

You wonder if this guy’s real name is actually Fenris while removing yourself from the couch and turning off the tv, secretly glad that you have an excuse to stop watching god awful advertisements. You were scarily close to buying that Nutri-Bullet ($149.95 today only!) 

Deciding that meeting this ‘friend’ of Varric’s deserved a better outfit than the boxers you haven’t changed out of, you slip into loose jeans and an even looser tank top. You’re usually more conservative but today is just too hot for sleeves, you’ll try your best not to be too self conscious. It’s not like you’re out of shape or anything, probably could afford to go to the gym more than once every fortnight though. You’re just a naturally big person. Isabela thinks that you’re overcompensating for something because of _course_ she does. 

Stepping over Sausage, who is probably the reason the jokes, “dogs who look like their owners” exists, you head towards the front door. She gets up from her spot on the cool floorboards as you do, trotting over to say goodbye, you tell her that you’ll be back soon, grab your keys from the bowl and leave.

\---

As soon as you step outside the apartment complex a gust of hot wind hits you in the face and you audibly groan, there’s no cool relief in the breeze whatsoever. You think once again, you’d have to be mad to move house on a day like today. 

Varric is already there, phone to his ear having a conversation with who you think you can make out to be Anders.

“Look I really don’t care what you do just please make sure he actually _pays_ this time okay?” He’s rubbing his forehead. “I cant afford to be losing $100 every night he decides he wants to self destruct.” Glancing up at you he mouthes the name ‘Samson’ rolling his eyes. Ah yes, Samson. He’s a Hanged Man regular, from what he’s told you late on a weeknight, he’s in the middle of getting a divorce, which you guess, explains why he’s at the bar every second night and often, at 11am on a weekday. You do feel a bit sorry for him, although of course you the only know of his side of the story, he doesn’t really give you much of a choice when he gets drunk enough and rambles about his wife not loving him anymore.

“Thanks Anders, i'll be back in later today when I finish up with Fenris’s move.” He turns to you and hangs up.

“Good morning sweetheart. I see that you’ve taken the time to make yourself presentable.” He’s being sarcastic. “Have you brushed your hair even once in your 25 years of being alive?”

“At least I put clothes on...” You mutter and pat down the mop of dark brown shaggy hair the best you can, embarrassed. You do brush your hair... sometimes. “Let’s get this over with.”

Varric casually presses the number 7 on the dial pad next to entrance of the apartment complex next door. It’s almost indistinguishably identical to the design of your own block, except this one looks somehow, even more run down. Looking at the number pad you notice that instead of 6 apartments in this block like yours, there’s 7, which from what you’ve gathered, this Fenris person is about to occupy. Theres a notable click as someone unlocks the front door without bothering to answer the call from the intercom.

“So, who is the guy?” You ask, Varric holds the door open as you step inside, its only a little cooler in here than it is outside.

“Fenris is an old friend I met while I was living with Bianca in the city, before I moved to Kirkwall and set up the bar. He’s an art major.” Varric tells you as you’re walking up the second flight of stairs, oh jeez its going to be hell getting furniture up here.

Your knowledge of people with art major’s are pulled straight from the stereotypes; unnaturally coloured haired, tattoos, band shirts... arty. You know that these probably aren’t true for everyone but you also don’t know any other artists to prove this stereotype wrong.

You reach the top floor (finally) and head to the very end of the hall and to the right, where boxes of well... things are stacked up against the wall outside the door. It’s stuffy, there’s no windows in the hall and you find that you’re _already_ starting to sweat, you haven’t even started to move anything yet. Great. You kind of wish that you never agreed to help, Varric can keep his $50. The hall is dressed in brown, moldy carpet and the walls look like they haven’t ever been washed, the paint cracks every meter or so. It is definitely a step down from your complex.

The door to number 7 is propped open with another box of what looks like CD’s. To no ones surprise, you don’t recognise any of them. Following Varric in -who knocks on the open door to be polite- you look around at the space. 

It’s... well... it’s very small. More boxes are scattered on the carpeted floor which is stale and stained in here too. By the looks of it, the room has been recently painted, a stark difference to the hallway they’d just exited. The room is empty of course, but you think it could be made quite nice with the right touch. The small kitchen is off to the the right almost hidden behind the wall of the bathroom, theres crockery sitting on the benches, ready to be put away. A large space to the left, where you assume a bed and robe will eventually sit and straight ahead, a huge window looking out to nothing but another window and the brick wall of your own set of apartments. You didn’t realise how little space there was between the buildings. You don’t envy whoever lives in the apartment across, being able to see straight into each other’s personal space if they were to ever open the blinds. Unfortunately for Fenris, this apartment seemed to just be one giant room with the only private space, the bathroom.

“Make sure you shut the blinds before you bring someone over to screw Fenris,” Varric notices the window too apparently “unless you’re into the voyeurism kind of shit, if you are then congratulations I think you’ve found yourself the dream apartment.” 

Your eyes are directed to the movement from the kitchen as Fenris stands, walking away from where he was cleaning the pantry cupboard. He’s wearing black jeans and a plain black t-shirt but this is not what you notice first. Bright white hair sits messily (yet stylishly?) on top this boys head, you mentally check ‘dyed hair’ off your art major stereotype list. Fenris is tall, just maybe a head shorter than you, which is saying something as you are scientifically classified as _giant_. Long pale white tattoos peek out of the sleeves of his shirt and down his arms to curve to the shape of his quite defined muscles. They travel to the tips of his fingers and you catch yourself wondering where else they reach. You’re mentally ticking off ‘tattoos’ from the list now too.

Neither of these things are what catch your eye first though. The tattoo’s slip out from under the neck of his shirt and slither their way upwards finally meeting and end point at his lips. This boy is _smirking_ at Varric’s comment. You feel unsettled but not in a bad way at all. Something lights up in the pit of your stomach and your heart jumps. To be completely honest, he’s the most gorgeous person you have ever laid eyes on. You all but cringe at how downright silly that sounds. But its true, that small smirk lights a fire in you that you have never experienced before. Not that you haven’t had your share of attractive partners before, to put it simply, none of them set you off like the boy standing in front of you.

He looks at you then, his distinct forest green eyes catching your boring light brown. It doesn’t last long, it’s a glance, an embarrassed flicker of attention. His face relaxes and he _speaks_.

_“I’ll keep that in mind.”_

His voice is gruff and low and incredible. You don’t know how anyone can have such an attractive voice as well as looks, that just isn’t fair, leave some for the rest of us plain old people.

“Fenris, this is Hawke.” You mutely hear Varric say your name. “He’s the one I said could probably lift a car above his head.”

You’re embarrassed, you wish you had worn sleeves.

“H-hey” You stammer out, dreaming of a better place than this, in bed, with the lights off and blanket over your head, somewhere where it is physically impossibly to embarrass yourself any further than you no doubt will.

You’re not a confident kind of guy, you’re Garrett Hawke, you have a your close knit of friends, you’re constantly self conscious and you’re just downright bad at making good first impressions. You silently say goodbye to any chances of getting closer to this man because theres no doubt that you are going to fuck something up. You always do, it’s in your genes. Goodbye handsome man, I will enjoy looking at you from afar when you take your rubbish out.

Fenris nods his hello back, he’s not looking at you. His white hair falls in front of his face, he swipes it aside, instinctively. You want to tuck it behind his ears for him. You mentally slap yourself.

If it weren’t for the cool air being blown into the room from the promised air conditioner mounted on the wall, you are pretty sure you would need to be hospitalised for hyperthermia, being in such close proximity to this unfairly attractive human being.

“Well, lets bring some furniture upstairs. Now that Hawke is here to help it shouldn’t take long.” Varric looks at me, “I think Fenris only owns like a bed and 2 sets of clothes, the rest is just weird art pieces.”

\--- 

Well Varric wasn’t wrong, there was so much art, little sculptures, paintings that you didn’t understand, framed photographs, boxes of art supplies and a bed. And a desk. And a chest of drawers. And a fridge. And so many god damn books. All of which you and Fenris heaved up 3 flights of stairs in now 44 degree heat.

Varric was obviously just there for moral support. How kind.

He had also left early, Left you, Garrett Hawke, to your own devices. You didn’t miss the raise of bartender’s eyebrow as he had said he would “leave you both to it”.

You can't restrain yourself from collapsing onto the floor of Fenris’s apartment when the last of the boxes and furniture were safe upstairs. You position yourself directly in front of the icy breeze of the air conditioner which had been turned up to a temperature none of you were sure it would ever reach. You never want to leave this arctic heaven. If you weren't sweating before, you most definitely are now. You try to even out your breathing after the last set of stairs. Maybe you are more unfit than you originally thought...

You hear the click of a lighter and the faint smell of smoke as Fenris lights up a cigarette. He mumbles something about smoking inside once, to christen the place, it’s cute. He lays himself down next to you, and the array of boxes and furniture that didn’t have a place to reside yet, offering you a drag, to which you decline. Not that you have anything against tobacco, you just don’t like the taste.

You both watch the smoke dance its way up towards the ceiling, dispersing in the air.

“Heima er best” He’s muttering again, around the cigarette this time.

You don’t know what it means, you’re too nervous to ask. This is only the second time he has spoken since Varric left.

He thanks you when you leave though.

\---

Flipping the switch on in the hallway as you get home remembering that you left the blinds closed, you brace yourself for Sausage’s usual greeting. She bounds into you with a force that would probably knock certain people you know over. She’ll never hurt of course, she’s just so big.

“Hey Sausage, see I told you I wouldn’t be too long.” You ruffle her fur, she’s always so happy.

It’s hotter in here than in Fenris’s apartment, but still cooler than outside, you figure its probably best for your mental health to open the blinds and not spend the rest of your afternoon in a cave.

As soon as you’re about to pull the cord to open the old venetian blinds that have collected dust from not being touched in months you remember that this window too, faces another. 

“No, surely it wouldn’t be his window... what are the chances of that?” You nervously laugh and consult Sausage who looks up at you confused. So instead of opening them the entire way, you slip your finger between two strips of the plastic and pull them apart, peeking out, just in case.

Of course. By the luck of nature or some asshole god you simultaneously want to thank but also punch in the face, you see him, through his window barely a meter apart from your own. He has his back turned, finishing the last of his smoke, while using both hands to mount a photograph on the wall above where it looks like the bed will sit. The picture is of pure white snow in which a naked boy -who you think is at least 18 or maybe older- kneels in, head back, looking up at the sky, or whatever was directly above him. There was red, red in the ribbon that was tied too tightly around this boy’s wrists and neck. Stark red on stark white snow. The boy from the picture has white hair the same shade as the tattooed boy mounting it.

You don't understand art, never have, but you find yourself suddenly wishing you did.

 


End file.
